Harry Potter: Einherjar and Dark Lord Slayer
by Rawr1983
Summary: Harry is struck down in the graveyard and the Dark Lord reigns supreme. But death is not the end for the Boy-Who-Died. ONE SHOT. Do not take this story seriously. It's intended to be a bit silly. Character death.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Valkyrie Profile: Lenneth, nor any of their associated properties. All such properties are owned by... their respective owners. Any likeness to any real person, living or dead, is coincidental and unintentional.

HP – VP

AN- I don't usually do in-story author's notes, but I felt one was necessary here. This story is meant to be a bit off-beat and not really take itself seriously. It's also a one-shot that I have no intention of continuing nor doing anything with. It's just something random I felt like doing. There's not really much action in here- much of it is exposition. Also, lots of people die. Some people die lots. You have been warned.

HP – VP

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

"_Expelliarmus!_"

Red and green bolts of magic flew past one another. Harry's disarming jinx was easily blocked by the Dark Lord. Voldemort's killing curse was not so easily dissuaded.

HP – VP

Harry's eyes opened of their own accord. He was surrounded by... nothing. All around him, all he could see is a vast nothingness. Belatedly, Harry noted that he also felt no pain. There was no sign of any sort of injury. Almost without thought, his hand reached up and touched his forehead. The scar was still there, but it seemed somehow... lesser.

"Harry Potter." It was a woman's voice, one Harry did not recognize, yet one that seemed to resonate with power. Harry turned, as he perceived this voice from behind him.

The woman was arguably the most beautiful he had seen, but it seemed an empty beauty. She held no allure, like Fleur Delacour or the veela at the World Cup. It was natural, yet cold, almost inhuman. She was wearing armor, of a sort- some sort of chestguard and shoulder pads, though Harry wasn't sure exactly what they were made of. They didn't seem to be metal.

The woman spoke again. "You have been chosen. Ragnarok approaches, and Valhalla needs warriors brave and true."

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. This woman was making no sense at all. "Valhalla... Ragnarok? What are you talking about? I'm no warrior..."

"Your heart is true, and your magic strong. You faced a great darkness beyond your strength, yet you faced death with bravery and honor." The woman's voice held no real inflection, aside from perhaps a hint of amusement.

"So I _am _dead then." She nodded. No comfort, no... anything. Merely confirming fact. "Wait... why isn't Cedric here? My parents?" Harry felt a stirring of hope. Even though he had apparently died, at least he could see his parents.

"They were not chosen. Your destiny is far greater- you will be a hero of Valhalla."

"I don't want to be a hero. If I'm dead, then I've done my bit already, haven't I? Shouldn't I go... on?" What was it Dumbledore had said, three years ago? "That's right... my 'next great adventure.' Shouldn't I be with my parents now?"

"You will see them again, but first you are needed." Her lips were pursed, now, and irritation threaded the woman's voice.

"Well, you seem to have this all planned out for me. Why don't you get on with it?"

"You must accept the gift that has been given," she said.

"So... I can say no?" A fractional nod of her head indicated his answer. "So why should I say yes?"

"Because you have the soul of a warrior and the heart of a hero. You will not stand idly by while those in need call your name. I know this, and this is why you were found worthy."

Harry sighed. This woman was a bit thick, he decided. "I'm also fourteen, and barely half-trained."

The woman smiled. It was not a pleasant smile, and Harry felt distinctly uneasy. "We would not send an untrained warrior into battle. You will learn the arts of war at my side."

"If I agree, there's something I want in exchange." The woman's smile deepened. She knew she had him.

HP – VP

Harry wasn't sure how long he fought at the Valkyrie's side. It seemed as though one battle blurred directly into the next. It was very strange, existing as pure spirit within the Chooser of the Slain. He could perceive the world around him, though much less than Valkyrie herself did. He even found that he could interact with the other einherjar. He liked Arngrim, though the man was rather one-dimensional. He supposed it could be expected of someone who wielded a blade twice his own height. In a way, he reminded Harry of Ron- if Ron had been obsessed with killing things instead of quidditch.

Llewelyn reminded Harry a bit of himself, and it was not a mirror he appreciated. Llewelyn was whiny, frightened, and apparently not terribly competent or heroic. Once Harry realized that, if he dyed his hair and picked up a bow, he would _be _Llewelyn, he resolved to stop complaining at once.

On the other hand, Mystina was the other extreme of what Harry didn't want to be. She was amoral, avaricious, and cruel. She was, though, quite lovely, and Harry certainly didn't mind the small outfits she wore. He also realized that, as Valkyrie's most competent mage, Mystina would be Harry's teacher in the magics of the Aesir.

Those magics were far different than anything he'd learned before. Due to his new state of being (he refused to think of himself as dead, which he sort of wasn't) Harry found the new magics to be far easier than what he'd learned as a mortal. Sure, he couldn't unlock a door or summon a broom. He could, however, call massive shards of ice and, when allowed the use of an Ether Scepter, swarms of fiery meteors from the sky. He took great pleasure when called to fight dragons in _not _trying to fly frantically away from them.

Harry also found that his new form did not preclude him from feeling pain- or from dying. Harry died a lot. Many of the creatures Valkyrie sought out to fight were so powerful that half the time, Harry died _by accident_ as they blasted one of the other einherjar.

Arngrim, who Harry decided had a horrible sense of humor, would compare each of Harry's deaths with one of his own, usually laughing the whole time. Harry usually was less amused, as he was having his raw essence stiched back together, which strangely enough, was extremely unpleasant. Harry's favorite death- according to Arngrim, since when Harry was asked, he said that he hated them all- was when a skeletal dragon tried to eat Mystina, who instead shoved her protege into its path. Harry bounced off of every single pointed bone on the way through the body- watched by all, of course. He might have even survived that, as his essence would stay at full strength up until it was extinguished, if it wasn't for Mystina then blowing up the skeleton. With him inside. That was when he realized that Llewelyn was, in fact, his favorite einherjar. Even if Llewelyn laughed at him too.

Soon, however, Harry's training was done. It was nearly time for him to go to Valhalla. But first, there was the small matter of the favor he'd asked of Valkyrie, before agreeing to any of this insanity.

HP – VP

The war against the dark lord was going poorly. Harry Potter, once thought of as the savior of the wizarding world, had vanished several years earlier, alongside fellow Triwizard Champion Cedric Diggory. Their bodies didn't turn up until Voldemort had taken over the ministry two years later. Harry, preserved through Voldemort's dark magics, was the centerpiece of the new 'Magic is Might' fountain in the Ministry atrium.

Dumbledore had been poisoned earlier in that year, and was struck down by his traitorous potions master, who then became Headmaster when Voldemort took the ministry. Most of the Weasleys were likewise dead, killed by Voldemort. Only Percy survived, as senior undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, Dolores Umbridge.

Hermione Granger was on the run, the last of the so-called 'Golden Trio.' A scant few of what would have been the class of '98 were with her. Most were already dead or at least didn't oppose the official ministry line.

They had been hiding at Sirius Black's house, Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore had wanted to place it under Fidelius, but Sirius insisted on becoming secret keeper, citing that he was trapped there anyway, and had no reason to leave. Snape had made the mistake of calling him a coward. The potions master still had a significant limp.

Sirius himself was still alive, though that was the best that could be said. Following Harry's death, he'd begun working his way through the house's alcohol supply, and even after he ran out, he refused to leave his room on most days. His only company was Kreacher, at least until Potter's Army- as Hermione's group called themselves- took refuge there. Hermione had wanted to call them Guerilla Resistance Organization Under Potter, but Ron was still alive at that time and stoutly refused to call them 'GROUP.' She'd also wanted to try Itinerant Trained Squads Attacking Tom Riddle's Associated Parties, but even she could see the wisdom in avoiding the inevitable acronym.

Sadly, Potter's Army had finally been located. Seamus Finnigan had gone out on a bar crawl to celebrate what would have been his graduation, and accidentally led the Death Eaters straight to Number 12. The anti-apparation and anti-portkey jinxes had gone up immediately, and Death Eaters began arriving in numbers immediately afterward. Voldemort was the last to arrive, and he immediately struck down the Fidelius in a massive burst of raw magic.

Potter's Army stood strong to the last, firing curses and hexes from the windows, but the Death Eaters were too numerous, and Voldemort himself was taking part, ensuring that Potter's Army wouldn't have a chance.

Finally, Hermione, bloody, bound, and wandless, was brought before Voldemort.

"At last, the girl-who-lived-too-long," Voldemort said, smiling coldly as his minions laughed at his poor joke.

Hermione knew it was the end. She thought of Harry, and how he'd likely died heroically. She thought of Ron, who'd died surprised. And she decided on her last words. She would honor her muggle heritage, Harry's bravery, and Ron's humor, poor though it could be sometimes. She looked straight into the eyes of her murderer. "Strike me down and I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine."

"I wish I had known to say that," came a too-familiar voice from behind Voldemort. Was she already dead? She was already seeing Harry, still in his Triwizard uniform, standing behind Voldemort. Still, something seemed different than the Harry she'd last seen.

Voldemort apparently saw him too. "Potter! I killed you. Your body decorates my Ministry!"

Harry just smirked. Oh, how she missed that smile! "It didn't take, Tom." Beside Harry, a beautiful, silver-haired woman wearing some sort of armor and bearing a gleaming sword, appeared through some sort of rippling portal.

"Your dark deeds stain your soul, foul creature. Prepare to be cleansed!"

Voldemort laughed, and faster than Hermione's eye could follow, launched a killing curse at the woman. She never had a chance. It struck her dead center, and... did nothing?

"Your foul magics are no match for the gods! It is time to send your soul screaming back to the abyss!"

Sensing that the armored woman was about to attack, Bellatrix Lestrange dove forward, throwing a blasting hex at her. It caused just as little effect as Voldemort's killing curse, but this time, the silver-haired woman responded in kind. From out of nowhere, a massive spear appeared in her hand, tipped by what appeared to be a burning phoenix. The woman effortlessly launched the spear into Bellatrix, who barely had time to scream before she died.

It was then that she saw Harry's eyes begin to glow menacingly. Voldemort saw it, too, and for the first time, Hermione saw fear in the dark lord's eyes. "No mercy for the damned," Harry intoned as Voldemort stood still, transfixed. "Thou hast no escape from the grasp of catastrophe!" And then Hermione realized what was different than the Harry she'd last seen. In place of his holly and phoenix feather wand, he bore a scepter that was absolutely brimming with power.

Against whatever power it was Harry now commanded, Voldemort and the Death Eaters stood no chance. Great flaming stones fell from the sky, striking down the dark lord and his followers with impunity. Within seconds, nothing remained but Hermione, Harry, and the silver-haired woman.

"Harry..." she said, tears now flowing freely. "How?"

"Ssh, Hermione. Don't cry. You're free now. The prophecy is fulfilled. I have to go..."

"Don't! Wait!" she cried, but it was too late. Harry and the mysterious woman vanished through the same rippling portal that the woman had first come through.

HP – VP

"Neither can live while the other survives? What a load of garbage!" Arngrim roared with laughter. "Bet he never expected you to die, come back, and kill him, eh? Power he knows not! Hah!"

"Shut up Arngrim. I hate you so very much." Harry couldn't wait to go to Valhalla.


End file.
